The Air Conditioner REVISED
by SeenaC
Summary: REVISED! A London heat-wave causes a change in the sleeping arrangements at 221b.  Part of my continuing narrative.  "M" for adult subjects. Revised to accommodate events in "Adventure of the Country Birthday."


**A/N**: Part of my continuing narrative. Set a little over one month after "The Adventure of the Country Birthday." REVISED from its original version, as I had written it out of sequence.

**Warnings**: Lots of navel-gazing by John (for those of you who have been following my stories, it's way overdue, right?). Frank discussions on sexuality. Gets close to slash, at least on the emotional level, nothing graphic.

**Disclaimer**: Don't own, no profits, etc. No disrespect to any owners is intended, quite the opposite.

As usual: John's POV

The Air Conditioner

_Night 1_

The heat had lain over London for days (and nights) until it felt as though I was suffocating. Going to the surgery was welcome relief, coming home was like abandoning hope in the Inferno. I was convinced it was killing me, especially at night when my small fan didn't seem to make a bit of difference in my bedroom as I tossed restlessly between warm sheets and pillows.

I came down that mid-August morning looking forward to a cooling shower and a day in the air-conditioned surgery. I found Sherlock in his pajama bottoms and t-shirt with his blue dressing gown tossed aside on the sofa while he tapped languidly on his laptop.

"Morning," I mumbled on my way to the kitchen for my tea. No heat-wave was going to keep me from my morning tea.

I received a grunt in response.

"Have you checked the weather reports?" I asked. "Any sign of when this heat is going to let up? I swear another night like last night will finish me."

"The heat is supposed to continue for another week or so," Sherlock replied. He looked at me with a touch of concern in his eyes. I must have looked truly pathetic.

Sherlock had already appealed to Mycroft for the use of 221c for a few days.1 As it was a basement flat it would be cooler than ours. Not only had Mycroft refused but he had informed both of us that any sign of intrusion would result in the arrest of Sherlock for trespassing on government property. Sherlock had been furious, mostly with himself for having given Mycroft the power of refusing and threatening him.

Mrs. Hudson had offered to accommodate us for a few days, but we both eagerly declined her invitation. She is a dear woman, and Sherlock and I both love her, but the heat was preferable to her constant attention.

I got ready and left the flat as quickly as possible for the cool surgery, picking up a bacon butty for breakfast on my way.

I got back to the flat that evening, dragging my feet in anticipation of another miserable, sticky night. As I climbed the stairs to the sitting room, I heard a strange humming noise. When I entered the room, an unexpected sight greeted me.

The first thing I noticed was the window air conditioning unit that was making the humming noise I had heard. It seemed to be working, the room was noticeably cooler than it had been this morning. Next to the air conditioner on the floor was a large lilo, made up with sheets, pillows and a duvet . I then noticed that in general the entire sitting room seemed to have been neatened up. Finally, I saw Sherlock come out from the kitchen observing my surprised expression with a satisfied gleam in his eyes.

"John, I've solved your sleeping problem!" He exclaimed happily.

"What did you do?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Isn't it obvious? You can't go on suffering at the top of the building. I knew you wouldn't accept the gift of your own window unit from me, so I bought one for our living area. You can reimburse me for half if you want. You can sleep here until the heat breaks. I bought new bedding, but the lilo is the same size as my bed, so you don't have to pay me for the sheets since I'll use them on my own bed later. I bought a big enough mattress that we can share if that's ok with you. The couch is a little sweaty lately..." he trailed off, seemingly anxious for my response.

"Of course Sherlock, it'll be fun...like camping or playing fort," I said.

He looked puzzled.

"You never played fort did you?"

Sherlock still looked blank.

"Never mind. No, this is great, thanks. But what about our schedules? I tend to go to bed at a reasonable hour and you...don't go to bed."

Sherlock waved his hands dismissively. "I can accommodate your schedule for a few nights. We can turn off all the lights and as long as I can still use my laptop and phone it'll be fine. Do you think that would bother you?"

"I don't think so," I said, "It's certainly worth a try."

I looked around the room. "You went to a lot of work putting this together today."

Sherlock smiled happily, "It didn't take much, once I deduced the solution to our problem. The straightening up took the longest, but I remembered you saying you couldn't stand a cluttered bedroom."

"Well, thanks Sherlock. This is all very nice of you, and I'm certainly happy to pay for half of the air conditioner. Just let me know how much and I'll pay you back as soon as I can."

I was a bit hesitant, when it came to it, to put Sherlock's plan into action. I was still worried that he would be annoyed at having to curtail his activities in order to accommodate my sleeping schedule. So I put off going to bed that night until much later than I usually did.

Finally, Sherlock said, "You can go to bed, John. It's ok. Really."

I went upstairs and changed into my t-shirt and pajama bottoms, brushed my teeth and came out to the living room. Sherlock had turned off all but one lamp and was draped over the couch with his laptop.

I came over to the bed and crawled in and settled.

"How is it?" asked Sherlock.

"It's really very comfortable. I actually think this mattress is better than mine. These sheets feel expensive, Sherlock, I hope you didn't spend a fortune on them."

"Ready for me to turn out the light?"

"Sure, 'night, Sherlock."

"Goodnight, John."

The lamp clicked off and the only remaining light came from the glow of Sherlock's laptop screen. I closed my eyes. I hadn't been lying. I really was very comfortable on the cushion of air and the cool, smooth sheets with a light duvet over me. The air conditioner blew delicious breezes across the bed and the humming was a strangely soothing white noise that almost completely drowned out the soft clicking of Sherlock's typing on the couch.

I had worried that I wouldn't be able to relax and sleep in these circumstances, but as I settled in I realized that had been a foolish concern. I had slept in far less ideal circumstances in Afghanistan, and I was probably asleep in about 20 minutes.

I woke up to the sound of my phone alarm beeping. For a split second I was disoriented, then I remembered where I was and why. I shut off my alarm and sat up to find that Sherlock had joined me at some point in the night. He was well over on the other side of the bed, and only a mop of dark curls peeped over the top of the duvet. I must have been exhausted to have slept through him crawling into the bed because in general I'm a light sleeper.

Sherlock was apparently fast asleep because he made no sound or movement as I got up to begin my day.

_Night 2_

That evening when I got home from work Sherlock asked me how I slept the previous night.

"Really well. It was the best night I've had in ages, actually. I must have been really tired because I have no memory of you coming to bed at all. How did you sleep?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Pretty well for me, I guess. So do you want to keep sleeping there?" He gestured to the lilo, which he had apparently made up during the day.

"Definitely. I say we keep it until this bloody heat-wave ends."

I followed the same routine as I had the previous night, except that I didn't stay up as late. I still fell asleep fairly quickly, lulled by the comfort of the bed and the hum of the air conditioner. Apparently, I was not as tired as the previous night, as I was awakened by Sherlock crawling into the bed during the night. I looked at my phone and it was just after 3am. I promptly fell back asleep.

_Nights 3-10_

Over the next week our routine became pretty firmly established. I went to bed at various times, depending on my schedule, but generally around 11pm or so. Sherlock would stay up, working on the couch, but I would invariably find him beside me in the morning.

One thing that did gradually change was that Sherlock started coming to bed earlier. I particularly noticed it when he came to bed at about midnight two nights in a row. That was abnormally early for him. I decided to try an experiment.

The next night I went to bed at 10pm, saying I had an early meeting at the surgery. This was true, but generally I wouldn't alter my schedule for it. Just after 11pm, I heard Sherlock brushing his teeth. I smiled and plotted my next test.

A few nights after that I came home from an especially long, hard day at the surgery. I begged extreme fatigue (true) and crawled into bed at 9pm. Normally, I would sit on the couch and doze in front of the telly, but I couldn't resist testing my theory. Sure enough, Sherlock followed me at about 10pm. I resisted the urge to giggle.

By the end of the week I was convinced that Sherlock was happier and more relaxed with the extra sleep he was getting. I even believed that his mind was sharper as well. He had run through a string of cases from Lestrade at a simply breathtaking pace. Lestrade asked him if had started taking vitamins. I turned my head to hide my smile. Now if I could just get him to eat more.

He was still far too thin from the time he had spent in France.2 Since he had returned to England he had been steadily gaining weight, but very slowly.

I was certainly sleeping well, and I hadn't had any nightmares. I was a little concerned about disturbing Sherlock if I had one. Our only other experience of sharing a bed had been about a month ago, just after Sherlock had finished his case in France. Due to his physical collapse, we had slept together for a total of five nights. I hadn't had a nightmare during that period either, probably because of my focus on Sherlock's needs. However, with a somewhat "normal" routine at home, I was concerned that my lurking PTSD could make a reappearance.

But, the only downside of our arrangement so far was the knowing smiles Mrs. Hudson had kept giving us since the lilo made its appearance.

By the end of the week it was no longer so horribly hot, but it was still quite warm. I was enjoying the cool comfort of the lilo, so I didn't say anything about returning to my bedroom. Sherlock never said anything either.

_Nights 11-21_

The weather gradually cooled over the succeeding days. Soon I was getting up in the night to turn off the air conditioner, as it was getting too cold. If Sherlock was awake when I did this, he never made any comment.

I was reluctant to end the camping episode in the sitting room. The bed was comfortable, and I was sleeping better than I had been since returning home from duty. I did end up having a few nightmares, but none so bad as were typical of what I had suffered previously. Maybe it was my subconscious taking comfort from Sherlock's presence, maybe it was the expensive pillow he had bought for me. I really didn't know.

I also rationalized remaining because of the good I was convinced it was doing for Sherlock. He continued to be more even-tempered and hadn't had a fit of sulks since the "camping" began. It was worth it to keep our unorthodox arrangement going as long as it was a benefit to him, right?

I knew the situation couldn't go on forever, though. I made the decision that once I did return to my own bedroom that I would start shopping for a new mattress. I was using an old full-size bed that came from Mrs. Hudson. Who knows how old and broken down it was?

However, I wasn't quite ready to return to my bedroom...it was still quite warm in the afternoons...

Then, on day twenty-one of the lilo, a storm blew in that dropped the temperature ten degrees or so. We did not run the air conditioner at all that day, but I said nothing about the lilo, and neither did Sherlock. I went to bed, following the new pattern. Sherlock followed me after his customary hour delay. I wasn't asleep yet, as I was a bit chilly. In fact, I just couldn't get warm at all the whole night, perhaps because it was an air mattress it didn't retain my body heat.

When my alarm went off the next morning I was still chilled and my shoulder was throbbing in pain. I suppose being tense from the cold had played havoc with my injury. I sat up and gave an involuntary groan of pain as stabbing jolts of agony radiated through my shoulder and down my arm.

I glanced over at Sherlock to see if I had awakened him. He was watching at me steadily from his pillow with one of his carefully neutral expressions.

"I think I have to go back to my own bed Sherlock," I said. I was trying to be matter-of-fact, but I still heard a tinge of regret in my voice.

After a beat of silence, Sherlock nodded, closed his eyes, and turned over and away from me.

_Night 22_

I came home from work later that day to find Sherlock gone from the flat. Also gone was the lilo; the empty space on the floor caused me a twinge of sadness.

_For heaven's sake Watson, grow up!_ I scolded myself. _You can't sleep on the floor like a 7 year old forever!_

I fixed myself some tea and was relaxing in front of the telly when Sherlock came home.

He bounded in with his customary vigor, and stood in front of me, but oddly, didn't say anything.

"Hi Sherlock, what's up?"

"John," he said, and stopped.

"Yes?"

He scratched his head, as if uncertain on how to continue. I was intrigued. I seldom saw Sherlock at a loss for words.

"I liked sleeping with you on the lilo," he said, a little defensively.

I blinked at him. This was unexpected.

"And I think that it was good for you too, that is, until it got too cold." Sherlock paused and looked at me expectantly.

"Yes," I hesitantly replied. _Where is he going with this?_

"So, why don't we use my room? I have the same size bed as the lilo."

I was dumbstruck.

After a pause, Sherlock said, "Here, let me show you." He led me to his bedroom and gestured for me to go inside.

I hardly recognized the place. I seldom had any reason to go inside Sherlock's room, but the few times I had seen it the room was a complete disaster. Now all the papers, books and scientific equipment had gone. The bed was neatly made, and I could see every inch of the oriental carpet on the open space of the floor. How he had managed to clear it all in one day was a wonder.

"I aired out the mattress and I washed the bedding from the lilo. If there's anything else you'd like...a particular kind of pillow or a featherbed or whatever...If it works out we can move your dresser in and I'll make space in the closet..." Sherlock trailed off.

_Good Lord, Sherlock is suggesting that I share a bed with him indefinitely! Can a straight man's life get any stranger?_

"Sherlock, we can't sleep together."

There was a pause.

"Why not?"

"Because...we're adults for heaven's sake!"

"We're adults, we can do whatever we'd like."

I sighed, "It's just not...I don't know...I'm not comfortable with the idea."

"You were fine with the lilo."

"That wasn't _your_ bed in _your_ bedroom, Sherlock! Plus, it was an emergency situation."

Sherlock snorted, "Emergency? The situation could hardly be described an emergency for at least the last two weeks."

I had no reply for that. I just stood, feeling helpless in the centre of Sherlock's bedroom while he waited behind me in the doorway.

Finally, he said in a quiet voice to my back, as if he wasn't certain that he wanted me to hear, "This is hard for me too, John."

I closed my eyes as the weight of his words sank into me. Of course, how had I not seen this? I found myself (metaphorically) stumbling, because this dance between Sherlock and I was a unique relationship. Although I knew the steps associated with relationships, with Sherlock they were in a confusing pattern, and I wasn't sure what the destination was.

But for Sherlock, every step was into the complete unknown. He had been locked inside of himself since childhood, and every move must feel like it was taking place at the edge of an abyss. For him, every step toward intimacy, no matter how small, was an act of incredible courage and trust. I was instantly ashamed of my own comparative cowardice.

Of course what he was proposing wasn't normal. Why would I expect that? He isn't normal. _We_ aren't normal. What was I afraid of? People might talk? They already did. Did I care? I suddenly realized I didn't. If sleeping together made Sherlock happy, and it made me happy, the world could piss off. Normal is boring.

I turned around. Sherlock looked at me questioningly.

"You're right," I said. "As usual, you're right and I'm an idiot. Let's give it a try. It'll be an experiment."

Sherlock smiled.

Later that night I was in Sherlock's (or maybe now I should say our?) bed with my laptop. He was still out in the kitchen, working on one of his experiments. I was going through and reading my blog as well as my private journal entries. I wanted to see if anything I had written previously could give me additional insight into what, precisely, had made me feel so reluctant to take Sherlock's idea seriously.

Was I worried about Sherlock's feelings for me? Or was I possibly worried about my feelings for him? I decided to examine my own feelings first, should be easier, right? I concluded that I did love Sherlock, very deeply. He was the most important person in the world to me, and I would gladly die for him. I had openly told him that he was "first" in my life, and I had even given up trying to date women because of him. The demands of my relationship with Sherlock did not allow room for a normal romantic relationship with another person, and I don't do one night stands anymore.

Just to be ruthlessly thorough in my own mind, I ran through several sexual scenarios with Sherlock as my partner. It held no strong appeal to me. I found him to be attractive in a theoretical sense, but couldn't discover a sexual desire for him. If I did have one, it was buried too deeply for my conscious mind to detect it.

So if I had given up on women, and had no sexual interest in Sherlock, where did that leave me with what was still, as far as I could tell, a normal, healthy libido? Had I given up sex for the rest of my life? That was a bit of a daunting prospect. Well, one day at a time, I concluded. If it became a real problem for me, I'd deal with it then. In the meantime, the excitement of working with Sherlock was giving me adequate, although different, physical thrills.

What about Sherlock then? Was I worried that he had romantic and/or sexual designs on me? I almost laughed out loud at the thought. No, I didn't seriously think that he was even capable of such emotions. He certainly had made his feelings about sexual contact clear. But how much did he care for me?

Ever since the incident with Moriarty at the Pool I've known that I am important to him. His collapse after the encounter seemed to be mostly due to his realization that I could have died.

There was also the period of time after his collapse in France, when he had become, briefly, physically demonstrative. He had cried in my arms in France, when I came to help him. He then had cuddled with me in bed a few times at the Colonel's house when we were in Surrey. It hadn't been a sexual thing, though, as far as I could tell. And, the behavior had ceased completely when we returned to London and had not recurred while sharing the lilo. He had always kept to "his side."

I was reading through my entry on my breakup with Sarah when I was struck by what I had written about my argument with Sherlock at the time:

_His face went white. "Unfair, John. Unfair! You think that I take pleasure in your pain?" He paused for a moment, then said in a bit of a strangled voice, "One of the things I love you for is that you always assume the best about me... rather than the worst...like everyone else." He then spun around, went to his room and slammed the door shut._

There it was, I had written it myself, and I still remembered his voice, his face, as he uttered those words. How was it that I didn't realize it at the time? He'd actually said it.

_I love you._

I stared at my laptop screen blindly while I thought about the possible implications of what I had just remembered. What did Sherlock mean by what he said? What does "love" mean to a self-described sociopath? Was Sherlock even aware that he'd said it?

I closed the laptop and turned off the light. I do my best thinking in the dark. Was it fair to obsess over three words from a statement uttered by someone who was clearly upset? After all, after saying what he did he didn't speak to me for almost 3 days.

Well, that wasn't exactly fair. We both avoided each other, and then when we did speak again he played a piece of music he said he'd been practicing just for me.

This latest suggestion of Sherlock's that we share a bed seemed like an extremely intimate gesture. Coming from anyone else it would be a blatantly sexual invitation. Was it?

Given what I knew of Sherlock, I didn't think so. His story of his first and only kiss seemed to indicate that he was possibly asexual. This lead me to wonder if he had morning erections. I had been rather careful not to look at Sherlock "there" in the mornings. I briefly considered revising this policy and then quickly backed away from that. My medical curiosity shouldn't be allowed to invade my friend's privacy. After all, he hadn't asked me to investigate any possible sexual dysfunction.

I sighed into the darkness. Maybe I was over-thinking this.

Just then, the subject of my musings came into the room. I was a little startled, as the now-customary hour had not yet elapsed.

"Coming to bed?" I asked.

"Yes," Sherlock answered shortly. He grabbed his pajamas and left.

He was back in a few minutes wearing his pajamas with his other clothes over his arm. He put his dirty laundry in the hamper and hung his suit in the closet, then crawled into bed next to me.

After a minute of silence Sherlock's voice asked, "John?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you mind this...arrangement?"

"No. The idea took me a little by surprise, but it's ok. And if it turns out not ok, I'll just go back to my room, right?"

"Yes."

There was another moment of silence.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"I...feel anxious when you're gone. That's not good, is it? I shouldn't feel that way. It...worries me."

I considered this for a moment, then asked, "Can you explain what you mean by feeling anxious?"

He paused, evidently thinking, then said, "I feel like my mind doesn't work the same when you're not around. It's like you are part of my mind, but when you aren't here, that part doesn't...operate correctly. I don't like that, it upsets me. But I shouldn't need you to think properly, that doesn't make any sense. Is something wrong with me?"

"Hmmm," I said thinking carefully. "Well, I'm not a neurologist, but I know enough about the brain to know that there might be a physical reason for what you are feeling. Your brain has actually built networks related to your relationship with me, just like my brain has done with you. Your brain does literally work differently depending on who you're with, whether it's me, Lestrade, Mycroft, Molly, or Anderson. For most of us, this is something we usually don't notice, but I can believe that for you it might be different. You're so intensely _aware _of everything, your brain is so finely tuned...it seems impossible, but you might actually be sensing the difference in your brain chemistry between my presence or lack of it. If that's the case, I don't think it's anything to be real concerned about. It's just something you'll have to get used to."

Sherlock gave a dissatisfied huff.

I continued, "Try to think of it as two different operating systems: John vs. No-John or something like that. Neither one is better, they're just different."

Sherlock huffed again then said, "So I was actually correct when I told Anderson that he lowers the IQ of everyone around him?"

I chuckled, "That might be going a bit too far, but yes, the underlying principle is there."

"In that case, John is certainly better than No-John."

"Thanks Sherlock, coming from you that is quite a compliment."

There was another moment of silence. Then Sherlock said quietly, "Sleep mode with John is more effective than with No-John."

I giggled. "Sherlock, you have the sexiest pillow-talk."

We both laughed, said goodnight and rolled over with our backs to each other.

As I drifted off to sleep, I felt happy. As odd as our relationship was, it was right for us. I decided to stop worrying about it, at least for now.

A/N: Now that I've made the needed revisions to this story, the next one will be the continuation of my narrative. It will involve the backstory of the Holmes brothers...

1 See my story "The Enemy of My Enemy" as to why Mycroft has control of 221c.

2 See my story "The Adventure of the Country Birthday"


End file.
